


As The Sun Goes Down

by iamnotelegant



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time Blow Jobs, Inexperienced Tony, Infidelity, Intersex Tony, Loss of Virginity, M/M, No underage, Omega Tony Stark, PWP, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Smut, Stony - Freeform, omega males are intersex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-10 03:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotelegant/pseuds/iamnotelegant
Summary: He decides to wait, ponders the idea of leaving the bar and searching for another, but his eyes keep dragging back to the blonde Alpha hunched over his glass. Tony tries his best for subtlety as he tilts his head to get a better look at him. The Alpha must have sensed his attention because suddenly he is looking over at Tony.“Yes?” The man queries, his timbre low, deep and uninterested. The man’s eyes are murky blue in the poor lighting of the bar. He’s dressed as if he’s been away at work and only stopped in for a drink.Tony thinks for a moment, contemplates leaving again before running his eyes one more time over him. The Alpha is handsome, overwhelmingly so. It’s enough, Tony thinks, then pushes toward his decision: “can I buy you a drink?”-Tony becomes an unwilling participant in a marriage set up by his father. How does he deal with that? By sleeping with some random stranger he meets in a bar in hopes of breaking off his engagement.





	1. The Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the longest time I’ve been wanting to contribute to the Stony fandom. I’ve read many Stony fics that have been amazingly well-written and served as a great source of inspiration. I have always written up drabbles that slowly transitioned into long chapters or fics I’ve always wanted to post, but ended up abandoning. 
> 
> So here is my attempt at an ABO Stony fic! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And please, if you see any incorrect spellings or errors, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!  
Enjoy! ^-^

He glides into the shabby old bar, notices the alcohol-stained tables and booths that cling to the sides of the walls; the weathered barkeep shining his glasses into pristine, translucent cups that look cleaner than the whole place combined. The floors are a dark oak and the chairs ricket and creak as they scrape against the floor each time someone moves to get up or sit down. There is a jukebox in the corner playing some old country song Tony doesn’t know.

He feels out of place—probably looks it too with his expensive suit and burgundy shirt, his tie long forgotten somewhere along the path here. It doesn’t matter though, he is frantic inside like a fast-beating drum. But his external presence does not betray his inner conflict as he calmly takes a seat by the bar.

He asks for a bourbon with no ice and as soon as it’s given to him, he shoots it back just as quick. He notices a man that sits five seats down, staring into his glass with a lost look on his face, his brawn figure hunched over his glass. _ Alpha, _his mind whispers.

He glances away and looks around, taking in his other options. He doesn’t just _ need _an alpha. He can use a beta, or even an omega to help solve his issue. But the other denizens occupying the bar consists of an old, beta male with a beer gut, drinking with a not much younger alpha who is balding at the crown of his head; not that promising, so he doesn't bother eyeing the rest of the crowd. But there is a beta woman sipping a martini that sits across from him: mid-forties, a bit gray around the temples. He catches her eye and she offers a smile. She is pretty, but not interesting enough in Tony’s definition.

This _is_ his First Time he’s proffering; it might as well be with someone memorable. 

He decides to wait, ponders the idea of leaving the bar and searching for another, but his eyes keep dragging back to the blonde Alpha hunched over his glass. Tony tries his best for subtlety as he tilts his head to get a better look at him. The Alpha must have sensed his attention because suddenly he is looking over at Tony.

“Yes?” The man queries, his timbre low, deep and uninterested. The man’s eyes are murky blue in the poor lighting of the bar. He’s dressed as if he’s been away at work and only stopped in for a drink, his coat placed carelessly on the stool beside him.

Tony thinks for a moment, contemplates leaving again before running his eyes one more time over the alpha. He is handsome, overwhelmingly so. It’s enough, Tony thinks, then pushes toward his decision: “can I buy you a drink?”

He feels dumb after saying it, considering the man’s own drink is still basically full. But the Alpha pauses, his eyes narrowing into slits as he scrutinizes Tony. “Aren’t you a little young to be here this early on a Wednesday?”

Tony has to smirk at that; if only he knew. “Old enough to buy and offer,”

His quip makes the Alpha purse his lips in quiet contemplation, before looking resigned when he finally shrugs and replies, “sure, why not?”

Tony orders two more bourbons with no ice—he doesn’t need his alcohol to be watered down tonight—and moves to sit beside the blonde Alpha.

The man moves his coat to the other side and Tony plops down on the bar stool next to him. He’s instantly hit with a wave of alpha musk: there is whiffs of citrus and bergamot, and an underlying woodsy scent that’s similar to fresh-cut wood. It's heady and intoxicating, more-so than the drink. It's impolite to inhale the scent of another, especially a stranger, but it's also too intense to ignore. No one else has scented this good before. Tony does his best to refrain from deliberately sniffing the man and forces himself to relax. 

The atmosphere is tense so Tony stays quiet. They drink in solemn silence, clinking their drinks in tandem when needed. He’s probably lonely, Tony thinks after a while, because when he gestures for another the man nodded readily. They go from having two drinks to four and he assumes the guy is pretty buzzed when he finally breaks the silence and says, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

_ Steve, _he hears himself say, tasting it on his tongue, the name rolling off easily. The alpha—Steve—looks over at him.

Now that Tony is closer he can see how the lighting in this dingy bar doesn’t do the man’s eyes enough justice. They are deep, imploring, and an ever-shifting blue. He wonders how deep they go, if he can see straight down to the depths of his soul. 

Steve holds out his hand.

“Tony,” he takes it; feels the warmth of the Alpha’s palm, briefly allows himself to marvel at how it almost engulfs his own. “So what brings you here, Steve?”

Steve chuckles softly at that, “you’ve no idea.”

Tony wants to say _ try me, _ but he’s had a similar day involving his father. He isn’t sure if he wants to divulge too deeply of his own personal reasons for being here—on a good day he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this—but the severity of his predicament has him on a mission, and he has found himself a target. What’s left to do is buttering up said target, inform him of the present issue plaguing his mind, then of course: the proposition. He just doesn’t know where or how to begin.

It’s not everyday he gets engaged and tries to break it off by sleeping with someone who isn’t his husband-to-be.

Tony ends up retorting anyway and finds out—regrettably—Steve has a fiancé at home who isn’t speaking to him at the moment. They recently broke off their engagement for reasons Steve won’t disclose, and that he is currently couch-surfing at his best friend’s place. 

_Love of my life, _ Steve mutters sometime around his fifth drink, _ she was the love of my life at twenty. 12 years we’ve been together, _Tony does the quick math, which would make Steve thirty-two. It also makes him 13 years older than Tony. It should not, in anyway, make Tony feel a little hot under the collar—he swears he doesn't have daddy issues—but it does, regardless of Steve’s current situation with his fiancé—ex-fiancé?

They go on to talk about Steve's work and how he is a professor at some Art university; he also offers free beginner classes on the side for seniors who started life too late. _I love art, the expression of it. M__y father had a knack for it and influenced my interest, _he says, which later becomes _I love my job, I do, but some days I can't stand it, _while Tony sits there and nods along. It might be the alcohol or—no, it's definitely the alcohol, because Tony opens his mouth and says something along the lines of _I have an overbearing father who has my life planned out to a T, and a mother who only shows interest when its expected. All because I was born with a self-lubricating hole, _Steve chokes on his drink and Tony mutters _sorry._

Steve offers to buy the next round and Tony obliges him. They clink their tumblers together, say _cheers to the shit-show we call life_, and proceed to throw back their whiskey.

Tony watches the movement of Steve’s adam’s apple and decides enough is enough. It’s either now or never, and Tony prefers _ now _ over _ never._ He sets down his empty glass, clears his throat, and made bold by the liquor running through his veins, he begins with: “I have a proposition.”

He waits until Steve puts his own glass down and gives him his full attention.

“Well, not really a proposition, more like an offer—or a favor, if you will,” Tony rambles, nerves tingling, ignoring Steve’s imploring stare. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m an omega,” he feels like such an idiot as soon as he utters it because _of course he knows you fucking idiot, you told him_, “—and, and I need help with a very small problem. A teensy one.” He holds a tiny space between his fingers for emphasis.

Steve hums in response.

_ Okay, Tones. This is it. Just go for it. Say it! _Tony gives himself a little nod, and then turns to face Steve. “I need you to have sex with me.”

At first it almost seemed like the Alpha was shocked, which is—well okay. It’s a perfectly normal response, right? Considering he is some random ass stranger. But don’t strangers approach each other with the intentions of sex at bars? He’s heard of this plenty of times. So why is it such a surprise?

But then Steve’s shock quickly dissolves into impassive silence. It's such an abrupt change from their earlier interaction that it makes Tony feel small under his unreadable gaze. He is far out of his element here, literally and figuratively, but it doesn’t lessen his desperation one bit. He understands that alpha’s don’t appreciate it but Tony meets the man’s gaze head-on, hoping he will understand the severity of the situation he is currently stuck in. 

But a long moment passes and Steve's prolonged silence begins to feel like rejection.

Tony _absolutely _hates that. Immediately, his thoughts take an abrupt turn and all he can think of is that he might have made a mistake, that this whole plan of his is just plain idiocy, and by him actually propositioning someone and getting rejected reaffirms that notion.

He might as well go move in with his alpha-to-be.

Tony moves to stand up, mentally preparing himself to forget this night ever happened when suddenly the Alpha’s hand shoots out and covers his own.

“Wait,” he says—no, _ commands_. Low and firm, a deep timbre that races up his spine; yet somehow it settles glaringly loud in Tony’s ears, only quieting when he sits his ass back down. Huh.

“So let me get this straight, you're offering me sex? Why?” comes the question. He doesn't sound disgusted, which is a good sign.

Tony meets his gaze, careful not to allow the spark of hope slowly reigniting inside of him get the best of him, and replies: “well, breaking off my bonding contract usually means I disobey one of its conditions. In other words, yes, I am offering you to have sex with me.”

The Alpha side-eyes him. "What contract?"

"Remember my overbearing father?" he supplies, "that bastard got me hooked, line, and sinker into a bond with an alpha I absolutely detest and cannot stand."

"So you're here to find a way out," he surmises.

Tony pauses, looks over at Steve. “You’re quite clever,” he commends; maybe the alpha was more observant than he was giving him credit for. 

"I'm a professor," he states bluntly.

"Yes," Tony allows, "but you teach _art.”_

"There is more to art than just putting pen to paper, Tony." Steve smirks for the first time that night, a sort of playful glint in his eye.

It’s such a massive change in his countenance that it gives him more charm, offers a different brightness to his face that makes the alpha more alluring than before, more mature in a way that makes Tony—for the first time in his life—feel his actual age.

He is breathless. A little aroused. And just like that, Tony is aware of Steve's brawniness; of the indigo dress shirt clinging to the alpha’s chest, stretching across the width of his broad shoulders and stopping in folded cuffs at his toned forearms. He wonders how his muscles would feel beneath his hands—if his skin is smooth or rough. Tony's gaze slips down to the alpha’s thighs and pictures himself climbing onto them. He doesn’t mean to—he really doesn’t—but the slick gushes, not much, but enough to make Tony as red as a tomato, and rips his gaze away.

"Y-yes, I know," he quickly concedes, his mind miles away from what he was previously going to say, and clears his throat. "But the question remains: will you or won't you? Because I really need to know, preferably right now," he signals for another drink. 

“Why does it have to be sex? Why can't it be something else in the contract?” Steve presses, ignorant of Tony’s inappropriate thoughts. 

Tony sighs, "because it's one of many obligations written in the contract that legally prevents me from being intimate with another person," it was actually at the top of the list fucking underlined and everything. _Anthony Edward Stark must maintain his virginal state—_ugh, just thinking about it makes him bristle. "Listen, it's just the deal-breaker, okay? It's how my world works. Everybody follows these stupid, crazy ass traditions and expects their children to do the same." Where the _hell_ is that bartender?

He didn't realize he was scenting distress when he feels Steve put his hand on his arm. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Clearly this subject upsets you.” 

Tony avoids his stare. "I just get really worked up when it involves..." he trails off, not willing to voice how unfair society is. How unfair it is growing up with an alpha father whom wanted an alpha son to continue his fucking legacy. And also that he's being sold and bought off like a fucking broodmare to _Tiberius Stone,_ of all alpha's. Tony knew he only had so much time left before his father finally married him off. He’s lucky he even made it past nineteen; an omega marrying later than that was unheard of.

He heaves a long sigh, "so will you help me or not?"

Steve frowns a bit, his handsome face shifting, "I may not be on steady ground with her at the moment, Tony, but I still have a fiancé. If she finds out..." he attempts to explain.

And Tony understands, mostly; the scent of another doesn't fade until it has run its course. He doesn't know the full details of that, but he is certain that if they do... _do it_... his scent will be gone within a few days.

Tony _does _feel slight guilt. However, his want to not marry Tiberius Stone far outweighs that guilt, and executing his plan will ensure that never happens.

"What she doesn't know won't kill her, right?" he offers, observes as Steve grows quiet again.

"You're just helping a fellow O’ out with a problem,” Tony looks away and finishes with: "we can go our separate ways after the deed is done. We never have to tell a soul; as simple as that.”

"How old are you, Tony?"

The question throws Tony off, because it shouldn't matter, right? But Steve seems the type to ruminate all angles, no matter how round or sharp of a point they make. 

"I hope my answer doesn't scare you off," he starts, intentionally delaying his response as he searches for the bartender a final time, wondering where the hell did he venture off to—he needs another drink—before returning to Steve's gaze. ”But... I am nineteen—and before you say anything!" He holds his palms up toward the Alpha, "I am nineteen with a genius IQ level, which technically makes me older than I am."

Steve stares at him.

Then he’s sighing and dropping a twenty on the counter-top. He reaches for his coat, then Tony, and proceeds to drag him outside. The Brooklyn autumn air is cool and brisk and it smacks Tony in the face, sobering him a little. 

Steve whirls around to face him, and Tony, for the first time that night—a lot of First's are happening tonight—notices how much shorter he is than Steve, standing just beneath the alpha’s nose.

If he weren't so excited by this newfound knowledge, he would have been intimidated by it. But nope, here he is, back in the same hormonal-filled-head-space he was in earlier. He thinks of the shirt clinging to Steve's chest—which is now hidden from view by Steve’s thick coat. And perhaps he had one too many whiskeys, making him bolder than he is, since he finds himself standing in the alpha's space before he even realizes it.

His pace of thought is usually faster than this.

The alluring scent from earlier quickly envelopes him though, suffocating in the most pleasant way, the omega in him wanting to drown in it, which is odd; he has never reacted this way to another person before.

Tony licks his lips and Steve follows the movement with his eyes. When he returns to Tony's gaze his eyes are less impassive and more open, a kind of hesitant hunger swirling behind his baby blues. It’s the first show of honest emotion he has seen from him all night, aside from his playful smirk and sullen looks. It matches the heat simmering beneath Tony's skin. 

"Did you drag me out here to give me an answer, Steve?" he asks, a littlebreathless; a little coy. "Or are you going to call me a cab and send me home?"

A group of obnoxiously loud people walk by, unaware of the air becoming charged between them, so tense that Tony has to hold his breath, watching the way the alpha's eyes darken. Steve’s throat bobs in a hard swallow. 

"If you're not going to help me, I’ll find another who will," Steve clenches his jaw at the admission,_"but... _if you are.” Tony leans his face closer—just a small distance—barely noticeable to anyone passing by, but glaringly obvious to Steve, and continues in a soft breath, “I prefer you help me tonight, before the sun comes up.”

The light isn’t any better outside, but Steve’s eyes seem to glow a tad brighter in the surrounding streetlights, like the moon reflecting off trembling water.

Tony tentatively reaches out and touches Steve’s chest, laying his palm flat, the coarse fabric of Steve’s coat warm under his touch. He feels the breath Steve sucks in at the contact. 

There is another long moment that passes between them; the total opposite of the companionable silence they shared earlier in the night.

The alpha’s gaze is piercing, growing more hungry by the second. Then he is covering Tony’s hand with his own, uses it to pull him in even closer, and speaks with a feeling of finality that settles over them both:

“Okay. I will help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I made Steve a little older to fit my quickly-growing-plot because suddenly there was, erhm, plot. More plot than what I intended to fit a PWP. So naturally, there were some plot-holes that needed to be fixed. Hence, Steve's age. He is no longer twenty-nine, but a few years older. I would say close to thirty-two?
> 
> If you liked it, please don't forget to kudos and comment! I would very much love to hear your thoughts! ^-^ Knowing how you feel and what you think makes me want to update faster! Much love and thank you for reading!


	2. The Consummation I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE, KNOW THAT Y'ALL ARE THE BOMB.COM. Anyways, I don't want to take up too much of your time so I will jump right to it.
> 
> P.S. Don't mind me. This was actually my excuse to write some abo smut. Idk how that is looking now, but It's also the first time I am actually putting the E in explicit into any type of story I've written, hohoh. Also, I've never actually written smut before so this will either be a make-it-or-break-it moment. 
> 
> I will also be introducing a different type of Omega male anatomy that I’ve always wanted to explore. Key word: intersex. If you don't like that, I advise you don't proceed with the fic. If you do, by all means, read on!
> 
> (EDITED AND REVISED ON 10/22/2019)
> 
> UPDATE: I made Steve a little older to fit my quickly-growing-plot because suddenly there was, erhm, plot. More plot than what I intended to fit a PWP. So naturally, there were some plot-holes that needed to be fixed. Hence, Steve's age. He is no longer twenty-nine, but a few years older. I would say close to thirty-two?
> 
> I will leave the rest in the end notes.

They take a cab and it’s a lot of convincing on Steve’s part to actually get Tony to agree. He acquiesced after Steve persuades him that _ no, we cannot take a limo. This is Brooklyn. I don’t care if your driver is a call away, taking a limo would be too conspicuous, _when Tony finally realized the point Steve was making, begrudgingly following him into the backseat of a yellow cab. Sure, he teased him about the cab, but that doesn't mean Tony would've actually got into one if Steve had sent him home.

This is supposed to be conducted secretly and safely, in the subterranean beyond the moving world and far away from eyes that would recognize Tony. And yet, it doesn't stop him from being disgusted with the tiny stains littering parts of the seat’s leather. Tony attempts to not examine it too closely though, choosing instead to keep his limbs close, sitting prim and proper like how his mother taught him. 

Ugh, he absolutely _ detests _public transit—the cramped space within the cab overflowing with a miasma of scents of all who came before them. It’s not pleasant. In fact, it makes Tony nauseous, his nose stinging, not used to the free flow of mixed scents within a small, enclosed space. 

He wishes he had called Jarvis.

The cab-driver is a middle-aged man who talks with a thick, foreign accent. His frame average and obviously beta, nothing about him really standing out except for the Mets' baseball cap he wears, sparking conversation between him and Steve. They commiserate over the previous season, hoping for a more improved one in the next. Beyond that, the cab-driver doesn’t ask too many questions, staying within the perimeters of politeness; every now and then though, Tony catches the driver curiously flitting his eyes to him. Naturally.

They _were_ picked up on a street by a seedy bar and are now on their way to whatever address Steve gave him—and by Tony’s sweet, lingering scent of arousal, twining around Steve’s alpha one, gradually dominating all previous scents with their presence...it isn’t too hard to guess why. Plus, their obvious differences in age. But he is certain the driver witnesses various, similar scenes. All that comes with being a chauffeur of some degree. 

Tony just hopes the driver doesn't recognize him.

The sound of the radio can be heard in the undercurrent of the pair's conversation, Steve chuckling every now and then.

The sound is pleasant, affecting him in a slow rise of yearning that creeps at him, Tony more aware of Steve in the intimate space of the car. He briefly wonders about the other sounds the alpha might make, how he will sound if Tony were to do...things. Very _intimate_ things that have no business conjuring images up in his mind's eye, but do nonetheless when he side-eyes Steve.

Steve's hair is more golden than the pale illusion it gave off in the bar, rich and bright like the sun. A brilliant star attracting effortlessly in a way that is also endearing as well, a notable softness in Steve’s face that Tony doesn’t discern until the moment Steve laughs at something the driver says. _Gentle_, he thinks quietly, a wild contrast to the man's earlier impassiveness, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle like leaves. Would Steve be gentle with Tony? Would Tony want that from Steve? He hasn’t put much thought into it, not really thinking beyond the wham-bam-thank-you-alpha aspect of it.

And the muscled chest he definitely does _ not _want to see. Nope. Not at all. Zero, zip, zap, nada.

Nonetheless his eyes slip down to the Alpha’s thighs, the fabric of Steve’s pants restricting of Tony’s wandering gaze. Why does he have to be so God damn _athletic?_ Not that Tony is complaining. He just has a vivid imagination, especially when the Alpha’s clothes appear to have a difficult time containing his mass. Tony’s exaggerating. Steve’s clothes fit him just right—well, in all the right places. Except for the places that should be more tight. Like his chest. Or...not his chest...he glances down.

Cheeks flushing hotly, he looks away. Then pictures Steve posing heroically on a rock with the angry crashing of waves behind him, adorned in nothing but a green leaf covering his groin; his muscles glistening in the sun beating down on him—no clothes to be seen. 

The image is arousing but also ridiculous, Tony realizes, and snorts a laugh. 

The sudden laughter draws the Alpha’s attention. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve asks.

“The image of you wearing nothing but a leaf,” he responds, not missing a beat despite the heat in his cheeks.

Steve raises a brow, a tiny tilt of his lips curling up. “And? How did I look?”

He’s teasing him, Tony realizes.

“Majestic. Heroic even,” he quips. “The true embodiment of an alpha.” He continues after seeing the smug look creeping onto the Alpha’s face, wanting to knock him down a little, because the man simply can’t have it all. “Sadly, the fantasy doesn’t meet reality.”

_Now_ he has Steve's attention, the alpha crossing his arms, leaning further back into his seat. “And how am I in this reality of yours?”

“Broody, sulking.” Tony waves a hand around, blunt, “like someone took away your favorite toy.”

“I don’t have—” the alpha attempts, but he’s cut off by Tony.

“Your pencils then—sketchbooks, paints. Whatever an artist uses to muse his woes.” Tony fires out.

Another moment passes with a look of quiet contemplation on Steve’s face, an honest but still playful glimmer in his eyes, before querying, “was I really that broody?”

Tony can see the flashes of buildings passing them in the peripheral of his vision. He looks at the Alpha and remembers how the man first appeared to him when he first entered the bar, wondering if it’s a trick question. 

“You were day-drinking alone on a Wednesday,” he jests, rather accusingly; a single brow rising.

“It was six o’clock in the evening.”

“Besides the point. You were _broody_, a damsel in distress.” Tony can't resist the smirk, tilting his head at Steve. “Practically begging for my help.”

An exaggeration, sure, but no less truthful than what Tony interpreted at the bar. 

Steve glances to the front, mindful of their present company, before leaning closer and whispering, “says the rich boy who went out of his way to stumble into a bar all the way across town.” A matching smirk rising on the man's own face.

“That’s different. You’re forgetting I approached you and offered you a drink, that _you_ accepted by the way," Tony quips back, whimsically, "and by the grace of my efforts, here you are: saved."

Steve laughs, a small smile gracing his lips. “You’re something else."

“That, Professor Broody, we both can agree on.” He accedes, his smirk becoming a full-fledged smile.

Steve's eyes fit down to his lips before shaking his head and looking away, another chuckle on his breath.

The banter leaves a warm feeling inside Tony. Nothing like the heat earlier when he baited the Alpha to comply with his demands. It's more of a gentle warmth, flowing over the vestiges of a cold tension he's been holding onto since before entering the bar. The warmth like the dawning sun gradually building in it's heat.

He likes this. 

Likes him.

That process of thought has red flags all over it.

This is a one night stand only, Tony reminds himself. But the warmth is still there, an acknowledgment left to be dealt with later, preferably when he's at home and within the confines of his cold and desolate room, a scotch or two already downed.

He rolls down his window and watches as the city flows past him, lit and awake with the bustling of life even in this outer borough of New York; the sun now long set, handing over its reign to the dominion of nightfall. There are tall, looming streetlights decorating every stretch of sidewalk, parts of the granite covered in colorful chalk that can't be perceived in the dark of the evening. There are people maneuvering about and he catches the glimpse of a shoe tied to a black, metal fence; tiny, the size of a child's foot. 

The buildings differentiate between tall and short, thick and narrow, a variety of brick, granite, and more; resembling a rich style that is unique to every era this part of New York has survived through. There is a mural that swirls chaotically along the stretch of one building, bursting with neon, almost eclipsing the surface in its entirety with a feeling of urgency, before stopping abrupt in the center of itself in blooming petals of orange and violet. The words 'peace' and 'freedom' painted in gold beneath it.

The cab slows to a stop, the lights in front of them flickering from green to yellow to red.

There is a bark of laughter that draws Tony's attention. He turns to his right, sees a bar with a patio lit with fluorescent's shifting into various soft colors, emitting the vibe of a late summer lingering in the first slow blink of autumn. There is a group of people gathered around a table, smiles evident and sharing merriment, no strain or worry visible. He wonders how it feels to be that carefree, to enjoy wine and food among friends and laughter. His envy is quick to rise, the want to experience that bleeding an all too familiar sadness within him; sudden, but not overwhelming. Not yet. Before it can reach to that extent, Tony makes a resolution that he will notspend tonight being a Debby Downer. Not when he is finally ripping the reins away from Howard and taking back control over his life.

But it’s the image of his mother’s disappointment that has him wavering.

She was so ecstatic when she received news of his engagement, pulling him aside after his meeting with Howard and Tiberius earlier that day. Her worries over Tony never finding a bond-mate quelled in the eyes of Tiberius, who reached a hand out to introduce himself.

She isn’t aware of his dislike toward him.

_I thought you would never bond, _she had told Tony, her happiness evident. Tony said nothing. He didn't want to be cruel, not when he hasn't seen her that happy in a long time; his resentment not as strong when it comes to his mother.

The lump rises in his throat before he can stop it.

The lights flicker green.

He leaves his melancholy thoughts behind him at the traffic-lights, before the scent of it can intensify and rat him out.

They pass a few more streets before arriving at their destination. 

Steve pays and thanks the driver—saying the man’s name because Steve seems to be nice like that—and climbs out of the cab, offering a hand to Tony. Tony briefly wonders if it's all an act, this nice card that Steve is pulling, like how some Alpha's are known to do; drawing in their prey by false acts of kindness before closing their jaws around them.

That's the kind of Alpha Tony is familiar with, and he is certain if Steve were pulling an act, Tony would have noticed from the get-go. But Tony had approached _him,_ had offered him the drink and the proposition. And now that he is thinking it, perhaps Tony innately knew, in the only way Omega's know when a prime Alpha is within close vicinity, that he was different. He admits Steve has this look about him that separates him from the others; wherein the Alpha's at high social gatherings would surround Tony in a circle of gawking eyes and leering stares, their smiles showing too much teeth, Steve has a gentleness to him that is obvious once you spend more than ten minutes with the man.

When he isn't being broody or trying to drown out his sorrows, of course. But even then Tony felt himself being pulled toward him. 

"Such a gentleman," Tony croons teasingly, a bit uncertain but he is quick to mask it, and takes Steve's offered hand.

It's long into the evening now. He assumes a little past ten, the autumn air cool enough to see your breath.

There is a motel standing four stories high, tucked neatly between two other buildings with enough room along its side to house stairs climbing upwards in a zigzag; the surrounding streets looking discreet enough with nondescript people. The exterior of the motel appears long-established, emitting a blink-and-you-will-miss-it feel to it with visible walkways wrapping along its front, and deep hallways striking a line in the center of it on each floor. A neon sign blinks _V__acancy _in pale luminescent color.

It's a motel.

A love motel. Or a Heat motel, if you will. 

Yeah. Discreet.

Decent looking, but far less luxurious than what Tony is accustomed to.

Steve settles a hand at the small of Tony's back and guides him forward to the front entrance. But at the thought of people—even a small handful catching sight of him entering this type of place with another _Alpha, _after the media spent all day exploding with news of his engagement to Tiberius Stone—and knowing how fast news spreads, Howard would catch wind and be here within minutes, putting an abrupt stop to his carefully thought-out plan. Yes, _very_ carefully thought out plan. Not like he stormed out of Stark Industries and left a red-faced Howard behind, demanding _y__ou__ get back here this instant, you brat!_

He understands why Howard wants Tiberius as his Alpha, but he'll be damned before he ever follows through with it. Tony is also aware that Tiberius has been coveting him since they were first introduced when he was fifteen. Far too young an age to expect marriage, but still old enough to discuss it. Since then, the man has been hanging around like a dog in rut.

Yeah, there is no way Tony is letting this chance slip through his grasp.

Also, he doesn't have enough cash on him to ensure this liaison stays quiet and under-wraps.

Tony halts mid-step. "Wait.”

Steve looks over at him, concerned. "Anything wrong?"

"You should go in alone." 

"No way. I'm not going to leave you by yourself." Steve dismisses.

"No one is going to steal me, don't worry. We can't be seen, remember? I don't want my trip in that foul-smelling cap to be for nothing." Tony refutes, adamant. "Plus, somebodyneeds to be the brains in this operation. You're already brawny enough, therefore I am the brain."

Without a doubt, of course.

Steve pointedly looks around, "there's barely enough people around to know who you are."

Aside from a few people walking the strip of various love motels, Tony doesn't recognize anyone, which is a good thing. That won't last for long, however. Which is why he needs Steve inside and booking them a room before that happens.

"Please," he begins with a scoff, the urge to roll his eyes intense, but he quells that. "I am Howard's one and only omega son." A burden on his father, sure, but also a blessing to him in some sick, twisted way. The media is already well aware of that and, naturally, Tony assumes the rest of the world. 

When the Alpha doesn't seem convinced, Tony stands straighter and lifts his chin, challenging the man to sway him. "I'll wait for you out here."

Steve looks on the verge of reprimanding that, he halts though, resigned in a way that gives the impression he is already familiar with a head-strong, stubbornness; and sighs, looking to the entrance of the building. "I have no qualms about anyone stealing you. In fact, they should fear it instead."

The warmth of his hand falls away, replaced by cold. "Wait here then, you stubborn omega."

"Stubborn but _smart_, omega." He quips back, can't help but snatching the last word, mirth twitching his lips when the older man rolls his eyes.

He watches him leave, waits until the Alpha disappears through the heavy, wooden doors and turns away, running his hands through his hair.

The floodgates he's been attempting to keep a tight grip on have now been ripped open and all Tony can do, all he can think of, is that they are here.They have made it to the motel—a love motel, sure. A place where all sorts of inappropriate things happen, such as affairs, like that one between that Alpha politician and his Beta dog-sitter that blew up on social media just last week. Yeah. Okay. Is this an affair? He thinks about Steve's supposed fiance and his mate-to-be that is probably wondering where the hell he disappeared off to. It's been several hours since the adjourning of his meeting—well, his father's meeting, Tony was only there to sit and look pretty.

No matter—Tony is _here_.

The place where Tony will be having sex. For the first time_. _His _first time—_not that it feels like anything special, he always knew it was going to happen. But oh my god, he is going to have _sex. _With an _alpha. _He totally saw himself as a beta guy, yet here he is, upon the precipice and the dawning of a new age. Of sex. With an _alpha._ It feels like just a second ago he entered the bar, blinked, then found himself here. But he isn't drunk to the point of blacking out, so that's ruled out of his long list of excuses. This is actually happening. 

Tony peers around and notices he is alone, no one else within sight except for a couple walking arm in arm across the street, and a group of people heading further down. They are too far away to recognize him. It offers him enough time to shake the jitters loose. Not that he is nervous—okay, maybe just a little. A microscopic amount. Tinier than an atom. An atom that somehow holds the size of the universe—and fitting several other miniature universes within it's pockets.

Tony rubs his palms together, fast, and feels the slight dampness, hoping his scent isn't haywire with his obvious direction of thought.

He can do this.

The whole point of this agreement is to rewrite the course of his life. This is providence being broken down and shredded, the epitome of rejection of his oh-so-called-destiny. Stark's are made of iron and teeth, therefore, Tony is made of iron and teeth. It has been stamped deep into his soul since the day he understood what being a Stark meant.

Tony can _do_ this.

His dilemma must've lasted a long span of moments because by the time he turns around, he spots Steve pushing through the motel's doors and heading back toward him, all tall and alpha-like, somehow gliding with a grace that contradicts the mass of him. Tony's gaze drops to the distinct glint of a key held between his fingers, catching light between sways.

_Iron and teeth, Tony. Iron and teeth._

Steve's hand returns to the small of his back, Tony noticing how well it fits this time, like puzzle pieces slotting together; the warmth of it verging on searing, tempting Tony's focus. 

_Room 210, _Steve reveals but it passes right over Tony's head, who is too busy persevering through his mantra, trying hard to clamp down on the nerves gathering beneath his skin. It grows less steady the closer they get to their room, which isn't even that far—a few more steps out of the way after reaching the second floor, then his eyes are staring at the gold-engraved numbers.

Steve uses the key to unlock the door, then holds it open, ever gallant—whoever said chivalry was dead is a liar—and waits for Tony to step in.

The door whooshes close behind them, shutting with a _ click _that resides deep in Tony’s gut, his accumulated confidence gradually receding with the fact that Tony has no idea how to proceed. So he busies himself. He steps deeper into the room and snatches up a pen from the little stand sitting beside the TV, and slides it between his fingers whilst surveying his surroundings, repeatedly clicking it. 

The room is small but quaint. There is a love-seat that sits to his left in the corner with a coffee-table placed before it, the window beside the sofa displaying nothing of importance beyond that of the outside world; the deep, wine-colored curtains adorning it pulled to each side, thick and goblin-pleated.

The urge to close the curtains makes his hands tingle, so he does, following the impulse without thought. 

The walls are a light creamy beige, stretching high toward the ceiling, complementing the dark umber of the carpet; the playing of dark and light setting an intimate tone of relaxation and comfort. Tony’s impressed with the warm, elegant feel to it.

He turns and almost drops his pen.

A lone, queen-sized bed sits along the wall beneath a painting of sunflowers, the painting itself complimenting the gold duvet covering the bed, alluring in a way that surpasses sleeping comfort and traverses into territory untouched.

In his peripheral, Steve shakes his coat off then folds it neatly over a chair by the desk. He feels the alpha's eyes on him, a feeling of innate awareness tipping him off. “You okay there?”

Tony snaps his gaze far away from the bed and fumbles—very calmly and collected, he may add, "of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

He beelines his way to the love-seat and plops down, fiddling with the pen some more as he crosses his legs. It's convenient for his hands, stimulating the nerves threatening to bound off and let loose. Not for the rest of his body, he soon notices, unaware his toe was tapping against the carpet the second he sat down. He uncrosses his legs and leans to the side, his arm gracing the arm of the sofa, trying to smoothly fit into the cushion before crossing his legs again. 

It's still not comfortable, let alone calming, but he stays himself. If he continues to fidget Steve will know and probably break off their agreement. He can't have that, not when he is so close. Tony just needs to search for a pliable way around this..._bump..._in his plans. Yes. Bump. Correct choice of words. An obstacle—a very difficult thing. Not like he is nervous upon realizing his plan is close to fruition and instead of being an idea floating around in his head, it has now become a real concrete thing in the present.

Why is his heart beating so damn fast?

“You sure?”

_I’m _fine. _I’m not some delicate omega,_ he wants to say. "Never better," he responds with instead, sounding final, wanting the Alpha to stop pestering him.

He just needs a second to adapt, to mold into the room and what is represents. His mind is simultaneous and quick though, fluctuating between a blankness and ruminating over what might transpire. He has witnessed enough in movies, heard enough from pupils. Heck, even _skimmed _enough romance novels—that he does _not _read, by the way—to understand what can happen; like the alpha becoming overwhelmed with desire and throwing the omega on the bed, pinning them into place, a firm grip on the back of their neck and a rutting cock pressed to the back of their thighs; and the thought of Steve—eyes dark and possessed, the total opposite of the kind Alpha he has witnessed so far—it sends an unwilling but healthy amount of wetness between his thighs, his cock throbbing.

Tony swallows, silently praying to whatever deity out there who will listen to him after all the raving he did about religion, that it won't filter past the material of his pants and leach into the sofa. But the slick from earlier is still drying. He knew he should have donned his scent-blocking body wash. It would've at least lessened his scent of arousal, but Howard insisted he went without for their meeting with Tiberius to ensure his chances of success. Tony hated every second of it. Hated how Stone watched him.

But it's his body's biological response to Steve that has Tony feeling embarrassed.

He should hold more control over himself, he is aware. Heard it all his life. But he's always in his head, well-accustomed to the pace of it, the pace of it ingrained into him so naturally he finds himself helplessly drawn to that thought again, as if his embarrassment was nothing but a phase that lasted merely two seconds—_the Alpha readying to take their omega mate, and the omega, perhaps submissive_—like that character Jenny from one of his books—_all soft and doe-eyed, in want of her warrior's heart and knot, allowing her Alpha to feast upon her flesh like a man starved after months of being apart_. _Or_ perhaps the omega fights back instead, much like Bradley, the investigated witness in the crime novels he has read. The lone wolf who preferred dominance over the baring of his soul, challenging the alpha detective to bite instead of kiss, to fuck instead of make love.

Then suddenly the characters Jenny and Bradley are being replaced with Tony, the Alpha from the books soon wearing Steve's face.

He feels a deep throb echo inside him, more slick pooling.

Tony’s fucked.

He sits straighter, now twice as nervous, a bit ashamed at how turned on he already is to jump Steve's bones. He should be more omega-like, he thinks, more mannerly and strait-laced, but the thought is quickly erased by the fact Tony doesn't know what Steve likes. He hasn't been privy to that knowledge or even hinted toward anything, the Alpha being as cool as spring, disciplined and collected in a way most alpha's aren't.

He thinks of the man's fiance. Or rather, doesn't. Not willing to step into that. Not when a spark of jealousy hits him hard in the chest, which is ridiculous—Steve isn't his. He _shouldn't_ be jealous. This is a one night stand. It's just the omega within him salivating at the first compatible alpha he's come across.

_It's just biology. _

Hedoesn't bother further with it, except that he cannot avoid the thought that if Steve's fiance were sitting in his place right now, shewould know how to initiate it. _She _would understand how to make that first contact of touch without fear of doubt. The floating image of Steve on top of a more femalecounterpart flashes through his head, stoking Tony’s ire.

_Get a hold of yourself!_

He hadn't realized Steve disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water pulling him out of his thoughts. It's another short moment before the Alpha reappears, his indigo shirt ever present, and walking toward Tony. 

Tony's heart picks up pace, gripping the pen in his hold. 

_Okay, Stark. _ _This is it. Iron and teeth. You got this. _

He braces himself, makes the effort to stay calm while trying not to panic. His imagination, of course, chooses that exact moment to run wild again; but Steve stops in front of him, and after a moment of Tony feeling deeply confused, waiting for something to happen, he sees the offered cup of water in Steve's hand.

Oh. Okay.

Tony inwardly chastises himself. Steve is an Alpha, clearly, but he isn’t the type to take what he wants. Heck, the man was even hesitant on agreeing to this. Most Alpha’s would have jumped at this opportunity. But not Steve. No, not him. In some way that makes Tony feel...safe. Not like Stone.

He gives Steve a small smile and takes the offered drink, sips it, realizes how thirsty he really is; and chugs it back, bits of water slipping past his lips and down his chin. 

"You had a lot to drink," Steve comments, watching with pleased eyes as he accepts it. "Just making sure you're not dehydrating yourself."

Tony sets down his cup on the table. "You mean, you want to make sure I'm conscious enough to make this decision."

Steve's lips lift slightly. "That, too."

Well, he’s conscious and if he’s being completely honest, he is a little more than just excited.

Tony draws his gaze up at the Alpha, "consider me conscious, then."

There is a spark of answering heat; the trace of an earlier desire filling the azure of Steve's gaze. Tony wants to continue staring at him, he really does, the man as transfixing as the various complicating parts he used to make his not-so-very-smart-AI-but-also-very-smart-AI, Dum-E. But it’s intimidating. So he drops his stare to the coffee table.

_Iron and teeth, Stark. Iron and teeth. Iron and—_

Tony waits with baited breath.

He hears a rustle of movement, his pulse jumping, and looks up to see Steve lounging himself on the bed. His long, legs crossing at the feet, using a remote to turn the TV on. The quiet of the room is then filled with the sound of Steve flipping through channels. 

Wait, what?

After a long studious moment, Tony gathers enough courage to ask, "hey, uhm, not to be eager or anything, but...aren't we supposed to?"

"You're nervous." Steve states, continuing his search through the channels as if his word weren't blunt enough to cut through Tony.

"No," he denies.

"Don't bother. I smelled it before we entered the room."

Tony feels a rush of hot anger at that, a quick rise of irritation not aimed at the Alpha but intended for himself. He was discovered too easily. Tony forgets how capable Steve's observant nature is. It provokes Tony into standing, all thoughts of the slick sticking to his pants holding no leeway over his drive to prove the Alpha wrong.

Tony marches over to Steve's side of the bed and snatches the remote from his hand.

"Am I nervous now?" He taunts, staring down at the Alpha who lazily moves his gaze from the TV to him. When he attains no reaction from Steve, he turns the TV off for emphasis, the room now falling silent except for his harsh breaths—which he attempts to steady.

His heart is still hammering.

The corner of Steve's lips twitch. A flicker of something; gone too fast for Tony to discern, then he has all of two seconds to react before Steve is sitting up, the Alpha’s hands gripping his waist. Tony is once again aware of Steve's bulk, his breath catching when he realizes that even while sitting, Steve fills the room with his presence. The Alpha’s nostrils flare. Tony's cheeks burn. Right. His pants. The mess in his pants. The very _sticky_ mess in his pants, the scent of his arousal permeating into the air now that he’s not sitting down.

Steve stares into him, imploring as ever. Tony recalls wanting to see into the Alpha’s soul but now Tony feels like the roles have been reversed; his layers being stripped away, feeling incredibly vulnerable beneath Steve’s gaze. How does he do that?

"Do you have any idea," the Alpha begins, running his eyes along the length of him, his stare like a physical caress. "How difficult it is to resist you?"

_Oh, _he thinks, or rather doesn't, his body understanding the implication faster than him and gushing more slick. It soaks through his Calvin Klein’s, trickling down his inner thighs, his pants teetering the line of being completely soaked. Steve's grip tightens in response.

"Yes," Tony blurts without thought, his ardent need to fill the silence intense. "No. Maybe."

Steve rises and gently maneuvers Tony backwards, Tony going willingly. He towers over him, the top of Tony's head reaching a bit under his nose when Steve stands at full height. With one hand he grips Tony’s chin and tilts his face up, his touch so gentle and soft it makes Tony feel like his skin is made of glass, prone to shattering with one hard press.

The Alpha bends down, his face inches away, the alluring scent of him filling Tony's lungs. Not aware of it, Tony’s mouth parts, expectant, heady with the scent of Alpha, observing the lowering of Steve's lashes. 

“You’re very beautiful, Tony.” Steve rumbles low in his chest. “How you’re not bonded yet is beyond me.”

_That's stupid, _a faraway thought echoes, _I'm not bonded yet because that's what Howard wants, and what Howard wants, I do my best to keep it away out of spite. _And also, how Steve _still_ hasn’t kissed him yet is beyond _him_.

“I’m getting that impression,” Steve smiles. 

Huh. Tony must have said that aloud. It doesn’t matter though. What _does_ is that their mouths are almost touching, the plush pillow of Steve' lips tantalizing.

Steve’s other hand moves from the hold on his waist, curling around the hand hanging limply at Tony's side, gently squeezing it before guiding it to the center of his chest. 

“We can take it slow. There's no need to rush,” Tony's hand looks almost fragile within Steve’s hold. "We have all night."

There is a burning flame in Steve's gaze but the Alpha does nothing, seeming more relaxed than anything.

Tony is a genius, easily able to perceive things as they are on a pace that can compare to the speed of light. But in _this..._his vast knowledge and expertise falls short. Can't Steve just bend him over already? Pick him up and throw him on the bed? Perhaps rip his clothes off and perform that trick Jenny's alpha did in the book; hand on his neck, finger pressed into his gland and...Tony coughs, looking down and away.

He is still confused, not willing to tread further without proper guidance—which doesn't make sense. Tony usually bulldozes himself into everything. But Steve's face, the man's high-sloped cheekbones and soft, delectable lips...everything about Steve _dares _him to, even if Tony fumbles in his pursuit.

And who was Tony to deny his impulsive side? 

Tony gathers his courage and presses his hand intently against Steve’s shirt, feeling the muscles flex beneath his palm. He would still very much like to see that chest of his, but he wants to begin with something he’s more familiar with. 

“Can I...?” the question falls silent but Steve smiles warmly at him in encouragement.

“Whatever you want,” the Alpha reminds him. 

Tony raises his eyes directly to Steve's. 

“Kiss me,” it’s too soft to be a command, his voice teetering on quiet.

But Steve doesn't give him room to feel uneasy about his request, only taking a second to react as if he’s been waiting for permission all night, then the gentle press of Steve's mouth brushing against his. It only lasts for so long, a chaste kiss that lights Tony aflame. The taste of Steve intoxicating him. 

Then he is pulling away, leaving a panting Tony behind. 

_Its just a kiss, _Tony berates himself.

Only a kiss and yet, why does he feel so affected by it? He feels like he has been ripped away from something delicious, the heady rush of it profound and taunting. 

Tony presses closer, his fingers curling around Steve’s shirt. 

“Kiss me again,” his voice is a tad firmer, but soft, the need rising inside him leaving no more room for doubt. A gnawing hunger opening up deep in his belly.

Steve’s eyes flash. Then the Alpha is on him, slanting their mouths together.

Tony moans into it, his eyes shuttering close when he finds that heady rush again, swept away by a haze of alpha scent rising to his nose. The aroma increasing in its allure as he feels the swipe of Steve’s tongue against his bottom lip. He opens his mouth and greedily grants him entry, vaguely aware he is clinging to him. 

The gland at his throat _throbs, _matching the ache between his legs, his prick already standing at half-attention.

He inhales a surprised breath when Steve pushes his coat off his shoulders, the jacket sliding to the floor, briefly thinking _Armani jackets shouldn't be on the floor _but then Steve is pressing kisses along the side of his jaw, leaving Tony bereft of finishing that thought. He feels a finger tracing a trail of fire across his chest, stopping at the collar of his throat, Steve's thumb gently pressing into the hollow of it.

Steve presses a kiss to the side of his mouth, his voice rough. “Is this okay?”

Tony nods, his head bobbing. “I-It's Okay. More than okay. Very, _very_ okay—as in you should keep doing whatever you're doing and don't stop." He hears him chuckle, feels the breath of it fanning against his mouth.

Steve kisses him one more time, his teeth softly dragging at his lip before pulling away. He begins deftly unbuttoning Tony’s shirt; the Alpha's eyes flitting between working the buttons and watching him. Tony has this innate sense that he is being unwrapped like a gift when Steve looks at him like that. Then Steve tugs, making the shirt hang around Tony's shoulders, baring slivers of tanned skin. Steve leans close and kisses Tony again, like he can’t get enough of him; softly, slowly, a touch of tongue grazing his lips. Then he lowers his head and brushes his mouth above his right pectoral, proceeding to lay another across his chest and up into the juncture between shoulder and neck—close to the gland swelling hot and pink near his clavicle, the area around it heating up. 

It melts Tony’s thinking in the process, turning to putty in the strength of Steve’s arms. Steve nips the flesh by his gland—so close it feels like an itch almost being scratched. 

“Steve,” he whimpers, breathy and filled with heat that the Alpha pulls back and looks at him. His eyes are dark, hungry, the sea behind his gaze swirling with lust. Tony wants to drown in it. "Please..."he doesn’t know what he’s asking but Steve acquiesces him, understanding what Tony doesn’t, and takes the rest of his shirt off.

It flutters to the ground, leaving him bereft except for the pants plastered against his thighs. Then he is taking his hand and leading Tony back to the bed, proceeding to lay him on his back in the center of it. The sheets feel soft against his heating skin, enough to drive him closer to Steve's touch, chasing the warmth of his hands as the alpha peels away his pants. Then he's naked, except for his soaked-through briefs.

Steve settles himself between his legs and rubs the tops of his thighs, then moves his touch up and along his torso. "You’re a work of art," he mutters in a deep baritone, watching Tony. He leans close and brushes a kiss against the plane of his stomach, trailing up along his ribs and to his chest. “So sweet,” he stops at his nipple, flicks a tongue out to taste it. "I could eat you up."

Tony pants. He wants Steve to devour him, to eat him whole, to be nothing but an empty carcass by the time this night is over.

Steve's hands continue to explore him, discovering which spots make Tony writhe; a finger pinching at his nipple, making Tony gasp, then suckling the puckered nub into his mouth. His thumb pressing into a soft spot behind the crook of his knee, then another spot found in the indent of his hip; Steve unraveling him with soft, gentle touches, and even softer kisses pressing into his flesh.

He is painfully hard by the time the alpha pulls back, whining at the loss of his touch.

Tony sees it then, the hard, intimidating jut of Steve's cock held back by his trousers. He's breathing, right? Tony is breathing? The Alpha begins to unbutton his own shirt, portions of pale, alabaster skin becoming unveiled. The muscles beneath the flesh rippling with each movement when finally, the shirt is sliding off. 

_Fuck_, he's not sure if he says that aloud, but from the telling tilt of Steve's lips, Tony is certain he did.

He stares at him, swallowing thickly, marveling at how stunning the Alpha is. He remembers Adonis then, the epitome of youthful beauty, a favourite of Aphrodite and Persephone—a most fitting description for Steve. Steve's fingers dance along Tony’s thigh, tiny touches of finger-tips that draw further inward, almost tickling—except he isn’t laughing. He’s holding his breath, waiting for something he doesn’t quite understand, only that he craves more.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Tony?” 

His cheeks tinge pink at the question.

Tony wants to answer, a part of him scrambling for one but it’s too difficult; the alpha’s scent still heady and cloying around in his head.

Steve hums, waiting for his response, but Tony can’t focus beyond the tantalizing fingers dipping beneath his briefs, slowly inching past the rubber band.

“I’m waiting,” the Alpha urges, smooth and deep. Subconsciously, Tony presses his head further back against the pillow, hints of his throat baring.

“I-I,” Tony starts, his eyes falling close when he feels Steve graze the hairs trailing down between his thighs. 

He feels so hypersensitive, his body producing more slick. It’s as if everything is jumping into hyper-drive; a myriad of urges and feelings long dormant, now awakening with each tender touch the alpha lays upon him. He wants Steve to slip his hand lower, to move beyond his tease and right down to his—

“Steve,” he chokes out, almost out of breath, a little embarrassed at how worked up he is. 

The alpha only shushes him. “It’s okay,” he whispers, before leaning close and laying a kiss against the side of his parted mouth. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Tony,” then he's pulling down his last piece of clothing, completely baring him. "Nothing wrong with feeling your desires.”

Steve throws his last vestige of clothing to the side, then grips his thigh, spreading him.

Omega male's are built differently from the average Beta and Alpha. Where both gender's of the Alpha have the knot, Omega males are intersex, granting them the use of a uterus and the ability to bear children. And even though Tony is incredibly turned on, he feels uncertain about himself.

Steve's gaze runs along him, stopping at the apex of his legs, honing in on his erect cock jutting out from between the folds of his labia, replacing the clitoris that would be on a woman.

Tony waits, his heart beating fast. 

Then he feels the grazing of fingers, slipping past his cock and straight below to where his cunt is, fingers gently spreading him, dipping into the slick gathered there.

Tony gasps.

"Beautiful," he hears him mutter, which makes him flush hot, and then Steve is lowering himself again, settling between his thighs, throwing Tony's legs over his shoulders. He lays an open-mouthed kiss along the soft skin of his inner thigh, proceeding to suck a love-bite into it. 

"What are you doing?!" he almost shouts, embarrassed.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Steve ignores. 

Tony drags another breath into his lungs, staring at Steve in disbelief.

“Well?”

A beat of silence, then. 

”Yes.” He finally admits.

”’Yes’, what?” Steve glances cheekily up at him, then sucks another love-bite into his thigh, leaving a trail of bruises blooming like rose petals. Tony moans, thrusts his hips but Steve steadies him, holding him down with a hand. _How annoying, _he thinks petulantly. His inner omega can’t help but agreeing, cut short from basking in the alpha’s attentions. 

“Yes, I have touched myself! Now please, if you don’t—“ Tony gasps, the air freezing in his lungs, then he’s thrashing his head back against the pillows as he feels the slide of Steve's tongue against his folds. It's hot, and wet, sending tingles of nerves down to his core, wavelengths of prickling pleasure rising in goose-flesh along his skin. Tony arches against him, not within his right state of mind to resist rolling his hips against Steve’s face.

It’s everything—this sensation. Too much and not enough all at once, crashing into him and around him, stealing the air from his lungs in its ruthless attack. It stokes the hunger inside him, brewing fierce and wicked and hot; assaulting all of his senses and drawing tears in Tony’s eyes.

And it’s _glorious. _His gland aching all the more.

Until he decides it’s too much.

“Wait!” He tries, breathless, trying to push at Steve but the alpha only grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers, ignoring Tony’s cries and persisting in his gentle attack.

There is pleasure shooting down his spine, making his thighs squeeze around the Alpha’s head, his other hand twining his fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging slightly. He can feel himself clenching around nothing, the urge to be filled rising; growing hotter and closer with each stroke of Steve's tongue, his cock throbbing.

"Steve,” he groans. “I-I can’t! I’m going to—“ die? Implode? Suffocate? Obliterate into a thousand pieces? 

Then Steve is pushing a finger into him, past his slick and right into the tight wetness of him, immediately curling his finger and rubbing a spot that makes Tony see stars. He rubs once, twice, and then Tony is cumming, hard.

_Nggggh, _wails what sounds like an injured animal. Tony briefly thinks it’s him, but he doesn’t believe that. It can’t be. Impossible. Tony doesn’t _sound_ like that. He shoots against his stomach in thick ribbons of cum, still rocking against Steve’s face, riding the waves; Steve continuing to rub at the sweet spot inside him, drawing more slick and pleasure from Tony, completely soaking the bed beneath him.

And then he’s floating.

Lost somewhere in space, somewhere beyond the physical realm, maybe. A buzzing in his ears. He feels limp and sluggish, his body melting into the sheets, becoming liquid. His legs holding no more strength and spreading further open without shame. There is no shame to be had when all he feels is a strong warmth of contentment and a want to burrow himself deeper into the alpha scent hanging around him, thickened with the tang of deep arousal.

But he doesn’t want to move.

He has this vague sense that something else is supposed to happen, but it's too far away to grasp onto. He is dimly aware of words being whispered into his ear, but the only words he can make out are: _so good _and_ so perfect._ He moans at the compliments, feels his inner omega preen, wanting to hear more. Because he _was_ good, wasn’t he? He did _so good._ So _very_ good. He was perfect. Like the Alpha. Like his big, strong alpha. _For_ his big, strong alpha. 

Tony sighs, staring at something above him but not quite seeing it. Not wanting to. He feels no urgency for anything. Not when he is being gathered into strong arms, the scent of Alpha strengthening. Tony chases the scent, finds himself burrowed in the Alpha’s neck and scenting at his gland. He licks it, tastes the explosion of citrus on his tongue, feels the Alpha tremble beneath his attentions.

But then Tony pulls away. His mouth dry. His puffs of air almost sticking inside his mouth. 

The arms around him lift him from the bed, briefly. He feels like he’s flying, the cool air nice against his flushed skin. But then he’s being settled back down, the sheets beneath him drier than before. 

The presence of the alpha disappears.

Tony whines, needy for his comfort and scent. He doesn't like being left alone.

Then the Alpha is back, the bed shifting as he sits. He helps Tony sit up, the touch of something against his lips. He tastes water. Cold and brisk and sweet. He greedily gulps it down, doesn’t mind the water slipping past his lips, not when the Alpha makes a pleased rumble.

The Alpha takes it away when Tony’s finished. Then he’s being laid back down and pulled into his arms. Tony sighs, cuddling closer, a faint pleased noise heard in the timbre of his voice. He is content. Safe and sated. Relaxed. 

He wants to stay here forever.

Time passes.

He isn’t certain how much. It all feels hazy, but then Tony is blinking up at Steve, his daze from before slowly relinquishing its hold on him as he resurfaces. Soon as he feels settled back into his own skin, his mind his own again, Tony opens his mouth and says:

_"Holy fuck, Steve."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s that for being a first-timer at smut? ;) And I thought the first chapter was long. LOL. I am going to be completely honest with you guys, I did NOT expect this fic to get the response it did. You guys literally surprised the hell out of me with the amount of kudos and comments I've received. Thank you so much for wanting to read this! ;;-;; I might be making this longer than I anticipated, but who's really complaining? 
> 
> If you see any grammatical errors or misspellings, please let me know. I am open to constructive criticism.
> 
> Again, I'd like to thank everyone for reading and allowing me this opportunity to share my work. If you enjoyed it, please don't forget to kudos and comment! :) I love reading your guy's feedback, it's important to me and it's always a blast!


	3. The Consummation II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR BEING SO PATIENT WITH ME!
> 
> This is all porn. Literally an overload of smut. I feel like I dragged it on too long...but you know what? This is a PWP but with a little dash of plot. So 70% porn and %30 plot.
> 
> (EDITED AND REVISED 10/22/2019)
> 
> If you see any grammatical errors or misspellings, please let me know down in the comments. Much appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for ALL of your kudos and comments! :) I appreciate it so much! Reading every one of your comments always puts a smile on my face! :D
> 
> Like the BIGGEST SMILE ever.

"I have never—and I swear on Jarvis' cooking, I’ve never experienced _that_ before in my life," he begins sluggishly, Tony's words taking forever to catch up. "An orgasm? Sure, that's easy, especially on a lonely night. Not as intense as this one, obviously, though I never want to move again—wait, am I shaking?" Tony lifts a hand to his face, scrutinizing it. "I think I'm shaking, Steve."

Steve chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating through the solid of his chest—his _chest. _No, back to the point. To his question. His very _important_ question—he can't help himself, still drunk off dopamine and Steve's alpha pheromones, he impulsively reaches out and touches it. "But that weird hazy-thingy?" he says while admiring the flesh, soft when you'd think a big Alpha like him would be rough. The surface of his skin like pale marble thinned into tenderness, blonde wisps of hair dusting down the center of his sternum and across the rippling muscles of his stomach in a fair line, disappearing past the waistline of his pants. "What even _was _that?"

He must have said something flattering, noting the pleased look on Steve's face when he glances up at him, something akin to pride gathering in Steve's playful gaze.

"I thought you were a genius, Tony," The Alpha teases, a call to Tony's earlier boast. "The Haze ring any bells?”

"I _am_ a genius, you ever hear of post-coital bliss and how it mucks up your brain?" Tony quips.

Steve's fingers close around his wrist, a thumb gently sweeping across his pulse point. 

He still feels like he is swimming through his thoughts when it finally registers_._ The Haze. Tony blinks. Right. Correction: 'Omega Haze', a state of mind similar to that of a subspace but more...omega-ish, for lack of a better term. It occurs only when the Omega reaches a state of total relaxation that is stimulated by pleasure and/or intense emotion, the drop quicker when stimulating the bonding gland at an Omega's neck, an erogenous zone especially sensitive to an Alpha's proximity.

Tony learned that in boarding school. It was mandatory in Sex-Ed, especially among young, hormonal Omegas curious about the biological transitions taking place within their bodies.

Tony remembers the sea of red-faced Omegas sitting all mannerly and bashful, their giggles hidden behind their hands, a hint of sweet fragrance wafting through the air in the classroom. All quietly whispering among themselves when the teacher moved onto the next image in her power-point, _'...a state of mind where everything becomes submission,_' the teacher had announced, clinical and to the point. Before flicking her wrist at the projector, the sound of a button being clicked; the image and diagram changing. _'You will experience this Haze and it will render you completely helpless. You will act based off your whims and obey without thought, so it is important you know all of the necessary safety precautions...'_

If Tony was or wasn’t one of those red-beet faces, the world will never know, like how Tony may or may not have discovered Howard’s stash of Beta porn when he was fourteen.

"Omega haze, right. Makes sense now," Tony muses quietly. Haze, Haze, Haze. Who gave it such a bland name? It's such a broad term and so plain and boring. Why not something more like 'Omega-Gone-Sex-Crazed'? Then shortened into 'O.G.S.C.', and then maybe 'O.G.', because saying the acronym would be a mouthful. Like Steve. Like his mouth. Pink and delectable, soft like peaches, dragging hot on his throat and on his chest, down between his thighs in tender little nips...

How would Steve’s mouth feel around his cock?

The thought draws heat to his cheeks, a wetness pooling deep down—not a whole lot to alert the Alpha, but enough to make Tony feel stupidly abashed because _so soon? __Already? _He can still feel the lingering effects of his orgasm, his limbs too lax to even entertain the thought of doing more. And yet, it doesn't stop his body from reacting, from hungering. 

It's the Haze—or O.G.—working its greedy grip onto him. It has to be. 

At the prospect of more though, his breath tumbles slow, and he licks the sudden dryness from his lips.

He remembers reading a line from Jenny's perspective in his book, regarding the Haze. '_A wash of new color sliding over her eyes like shades, making everything beautiful in a transcendent way,'_ it had read.

A stunning scene that painted, but actually experiencing it? That uncontrollable lust? Where everything fades and nothing exists but the Omega and the Alpha? The gap between knowing and experiencing that is so vast it's one of those 'you have to go through it yourself to truly understand' kind of experiences. He believes it goes without saying that Tony finally understands all the hype behind it now, and why it's so damn popular among romance novels. Even now Tony feels it lingering, the Haze receding like waves at shore only to rush back in with the tide, leaving his thoughts overturned like rocks.

The Haze itself tempting and salacious at his ear, threatening his forefront voice by consistently trying to persuade him that he should please the Alpha—_d__oesn’t he deserve it? After how hard he worked to make you feel good? Don't you want to be a good omega? Don't you want to make Steve_ feel_ good?_

Actually...yeah. That sounds good. Real, real good. He could... he could _touch _him, everywhere. Maybe even taste? Find out if Steve tastes citrus all over. Citrus like fresh orange and lime, all lemony and musk. All Alpha and strong and good—he quickly realizes his nose is nuzzled at Steve's throat, searching for whiffs of his intoxicating scent, to taste his gland once more—and abruptly pulls away. Ugh_. _Hefeels like his conscious thought is locked in constant warfare with his Omega psyche.

Steve's hand smooths a trail along his arm and it grabs his interest, his skin still very sensitive to Steve's touch. And then it strikes him—an epiphany—no, more like his own selfish curiosity—Tony drops his gaze and sees the bulge in Steve's pants, still hard. 

_Swollen and hot and ready, Omega._

The ache returns, striking through him in a hot throb he feels all over.

Dammit, he just had an orgasm! He needs to cool down and get his body back under control, lest Steve thinks him needy—or does Steve like needy Omegas? Has Steve been with another omega before Tony? Is Steve's fiancé a—nope. Don't go there. Stay far away from that thought.

Far, _far_ away. 

He goes there.

Maybe his fiancé is an Omega? Some sweet, soft O’ with demure manners? He knows with a fierceness that he shouldn’t, he really, _really_, shouldn't—but he imagines a pretty, doe-eyed Omega writhing beneath Steve’s massive frame. Another omega whom, perhaps, has been touched by Steve; whose had Steve’s hands all over her body. His mouth on her hips and stomach, making her cry out from the pleasure—Tony is seized by a sudden and fierce feeling of possessiveness—and hastily decides he dislikes that image with a passion.

It’s stupid, he knows. Tony understands this logically, not impressed with himself because clearly it's his Omega psyche pushing for control and wanting to assert a claim where there is zero need for it. But just this once... he allows it, and scraps the image; burns and shoves it so far out of his head he is confident there is no chance of it coming back; and hooks his ankle around Steve’s calf, bringing himself more flushed against him.

His softened cock twitches in interest, but he ignores that in favor of his curiosity—_epiphany_.

What concerns, but equally puzzles Tony, is that Steve hadn't cum, and if he remembers correctly—which he does. He really, _really_ does. Probably won’t forget it anytime soon, honestly. Steve did everything possible to relax him and chase away Tony's nerves, made him comfortable up to the point Tony's apprehension completely melted away, overtaken by the Haze, giving Steve the perfect window of opportunity to do as he pleases. And yet, the man made no attempts to take what was practically offered up to him on a silver platter.

It baffles him.

In the books it is sweet and romantic, fictional, while reality teaches that Alpha's are meant to be serviced without question. They are top dog, best among best. Although the book Tony read with domineering Omega Bradley and his detective Alpha was a rare gem, it is hardly the norm. Don’t get him wrong, he’s sure it happens. Rare as it is. But Tony grew up beneath Howard’s thumb and has been told since as long as he can remember what his duty to his Father’s company was. It is what Tony has been taught in the classroom, and what he's come to expect as his so-called-duty being the Omega to an Alpha. But Steve... again, he makes Tony uncertain. The Alpha didn't demand he present on his knees, but instead gave him pleasure. He didn't even try to mount him or anything—didn't even _cum, _which is a big thing during sex!

Jenny's Alpha came. He came a lot. He took it one step further and even _knotted_ Jenny. 

So Why? Why didn't Steve take? Didn't he think it was within his right? Not that Tony would have minded; he had felt completely ready for anything in the moment.

He looks up at Steve, the Alpha appearing absentminded as if he too, is lost in thought.

That is the whole point of this, right? To have this over and done with? So why didn't the Alpha just _do_ it? Confusion weighs on him, along with it is a light stream of unnamed warmth twining within it. He needs to know.

"Why?" Tony blurts out.

Steve's brows furrow, taken aback. “What?”

Tony can wield the finest silver tongue when the mood strikes him, but right now? He feels the need to be blunt and honest, something inside him demanding it. 

“Why didn't you fuck me?” the words fly from his mouth without technique.

He is nervous for Steve's answer, but pleased when he spots a tinge of pink climbing the slope of Steve's cheekbones. He wasn’t aware the Alpha can blush, up until now the man appearing sure of himself and not capable of being embarrassed. He did say Tony was irresistible. 

“The opportunity was there?” Tony continues. “I literally laid there all ripe and ready. Like some forbidden fruit. So why not?” his words sound accusatory, something he doesn't intend, but it comes out that way regardless. The Alpha’s face flushes further, his mouth opening and closing, looking on the verge of response but Tony cuts through it. “Is it me?” he muses aloud, “if it is...I can pretend to have a heat? If that’s what you’re into?” 

The finger tracing patterns into his skin halts mid-movement and Steve's eyes widen with shock. A moment passes before he finally sputters out, questioningly, “Tony?" which carries into: "No! Why would you even—Tony? No, I—" Then Steve is schooling his expression into something more stern, calmly saying _'no' _more firmly this time, a hint of Alpha tone, as if to brush off what Tony gave voice to; like Tony just said something so ridiculous and irrational the Alpha couldn't stand another second of it.

“Then what is it?”

_Don't you want me? Didn’t you say I was hard to resist? _He thinks, which is ridiculous because obviously Steve wants him. If he didn't, they wouldn't be here.

Steve unwraps his arms from Tony and sits up, a part of Tony deflates from the loss of warmth. "Tony," he begins, clearly about to embark on a long speech but Tony sits up with him.

"Why?" he presses. He feels like he is treading on thin glass here, as if this accumulated image and opinion he has of Steve can be shattered if Steve doesn't answer the way Tony wants him to. But how does Tony want him to answer that?

The Alpha looks over at him, quizzically, as if he is trying to figure him out. And then he says, "I said we have all night, Tony. And I meant it. This is your first time."

"And?"

He needs more than just _'first time'._

"Your first time is something special, Tony."

"What's so special about getting fucked for the first time?" He raises a brow. 

Steve's puzzled look twists even further, matching what Tony feels; as if they are truly seeing each other from two different worlds for the first time. "No, Tony." he said with a tiny shake of his head. A look falls over Steve’s face that knocks Tony off kilter, his handsome face shifting into determination as he moves close and cups his cheek, then softly speaks, "you shouldn't be 'fucked' on your first time. That's not how it works."

"But..." the words muster and coil on his tongue, another refute ready, but he can't bring himself to say it. Steve appearing so earnest and believing of his own words it has him at a loss.

"If you were told to expect that, then I'm sorry." The hold on Tony's cheek moves down to his jaw, then his chin, fingers tilting his face up. There is a warmth flowing over Tony's bewilderment, heating behind his ribs, the flutter of something soft-winged and sweet. He doesn’t know what to do with it. "You should be made _love_ to, Tony. The proper way."

And just like that, it hits the nail on Tony's coffin, implements into his head that _yes, _Steve is different. He is Alpha—but he is _different _and so damn gentle—how can an Alpha be so soft? But the good kind of soft?

And in the way Steve speaks to him, has been treating him all night like he isn't someone lesser; tender, playful, and sincere. So kind and unlike everything Tony has faced in his life. The breath whooshes out of him and he is left staring in stunned silence at Steve, once again trapped within the confines of the acknowledgement he earlier refused in the cab.

_The proper way,_ Steve said. Made _love_ to. Not fucked, but _loved_. The implication behind those words draws hot and tight, clenches something lustful deep inside his stomach. Darker in a way that makes Tony throb and ache all over, hungry for touch and skin and to be made _love _to. He doesn't care if he appears needy or desperate because _God_,_ he wants Steve._ Did he always want him this much?

That's a lie, he always knew, probably has known it since he first walked into that bar.

He can no longer stand the distance between them and swiftly leans in, clumsily pressing his mouth against Steve's unsuspecting one. He brushes Steve's mouth once, before the heady scent of Alpha slams into him. Steve's scent of arousal thick like molasses, heavy with his alpha musk and a tinge of sweetness that makes Tony whine low in his throat. The scent in itself like a lewd caress to his Omega senses, his gland flaring to life.

It takes Steve a moment to react before he is kissing him back and feels the hot graze of Steve's tongue upon the seam of his lips, the hold on his face firming. Eager for more, Tony leans into it. He tentatively touches Steve's tongue with his, shutters out a breath when Steve curls around it and straight into his mouth, melting them both into a hot open-mouthed kiss. It makes Tony throb and ache all the more, grabbing onto Steve's forearm and pulling him closer.

The kiss turns desperate within seconds, as if they had never pressed close like this before, Steve thrusting his tongue in and out, mimicking the earlier use of his finger's. Tony moans, his inner muscles clenching from the memory. It goes on forever until the need for air becomes too much and they finally pull apart; Tony fluttering his eyes open, breathless, and sees Steve staring back at him with such lascivious want. 

Steve wants him.

He wants—_y__es, Omega. He _wants_ you. He wants to _take care_ of you—to make _love _to you._

The heat thrums in his veins, increasing and coaling with a sharpness he feels deep in his gut, his cock beginning to harden; Tony's body now finished with its rest.

He drags his eyes down along Steve's muscled front, along the chiseled cut of his shoulders and pecs. The urge to taste overcomes him and he presses a kiss beneath Steve's collarbone, darts a tongue out to taste the salt on his skin. 

A fog rises in his head, a slow encompassing feeling as he feels the sudden need to _please, _to hear Steve moan in pleasure like he had him and return this wonderful feeling Steve had bestowed upon him. Very tentatively, with the utmost caution Tony can have—which is currently not much—he trails his fingers down Steve's chest and stomach, stopping at the end of the happy trail below his navel and touching the leather of his belt.

Along with the fog comes the disconnection from his brain to mouth, apparently.

“I don't want to give you blue balls, Steve, or blue knot." He whispers, a far away part of him wants to burst into flames of embarrassment at the words, but it feels unimportant. Unnecessary. Why should he feel embarrassed about wanting to please the Alpha?

"However that expression goes," Tony continues in a groan, dragging his mouth across Steve's collarbone and closer to the Alpha gland. "I want to...Steve, I want to try to..."he reaches down and runs his fingers along the bulge in Steve's pants. Steve's breath hitches and Tony takes it as a good sign, settling his fingers more firmly against him. 

"Tony," the Alpha warns, low and deep, drawing more heat in his belly. He likes how Steve says his name.

_Please him._

He presses more insistently against Steve, his carnal need to satisfy leading him deeper into the fog—Steve will take care of him. Steve wants to make _love_ to him. It hits him deep in his soul, but Tony wants to take care of Steve too. So he moves quickly, rolling Steve onto his back, a more primal part of him pleased from how easily Steve allows him to do so, the Alpha staring up at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

Tony remembers Steve barely glancing at him in the bar as if he was afraid of seeing something, but hidden within the sanctuary of this room it's like Steve can't do anything but fixate on him. Like Tony is the moon and Steve is the burning sun, both on the verge of eclipsing.

Straddling Steve has Tony pressed against the material of his pants and if he lowers himself just so—Tony gasps. Steve's hands fly to his waist. A slow flush spreads across Steve's chest, the man's cock pressed hard against Tony. So close and searingly hot—but not enough. The Haze chooses that moment to strike him hard, making Tony move without thought and rolling his hips experimentally. The jut of Steve's cock presses against his own. It pulls a moan from his lips at the abrupt spasm of pleasure that shoots through him; Steve dragging a breath in as his mouth parts, his already flushed cheeks deepening in its rouge color, the Alpha’s grip tightening.

Tony’s scent spikes sharp and sweet, spilling heavier into the air and mingling with Steve's, creating a headier scent of sex and arousal.

It’s driving him crazy. 

Tony lowers himself to his chest and relishes the feel of Steve’s chest hair light against his own skin, and drags his mouth up the middle of Steve’s sternum, sweeping his palms up and around Steve's shoulders while titillating his hips. The muscles beneath his palms flex in response.

"Fuck," Steve groans, voice thick with desire.

Is this how Steve felt with Tony beneath him? Powerful? Wicked? Erratic with the need to draw more noises from him? This utter showcase of dominance has Tony molten in his core, his cock swelling hard from how pliant Steve is being.

It shouldn't turn him on—it's wrong, wrong, _wrong. _But he keeps rolling his hips, enjoying this embellishment of power and having a big, strong Alpha beneath him; the man's grip almost bruising, but still relenting enough to allow Tony the pace he wishes. And he presses insistently, again, and again, and _again. _Until he decides enough is enough and his hands are on Steve's belt, the clink of it echoing in his ears. He unzips Steve's pants and slips a hand beneath, searching.

The Haze relents enough for Tony to think, _wow. Okay. That is...that is one huge dick._

He releases Steve and tries divesting him of his pants, but Steve helps him by doing most of the work; Tony feeling too drunk on his lust, his skin aflame with sensitivity. Then the Alpha is laying back down, naked and languid in all of his glory, all sinew and chiseled flesh. His cock laying thick and heavy on his stomach, flushed a deep pink at the tip and already leaking pre-cum, matching the color of Steve's lips. His knot sits at the base of it, thicker in girth. The sight of Steve almost has Tony twisting himself around and presenting himself, his instincts roaring, but he stays willful and present.

He wonders if Steve's cock tastes the same as Steve's kisses. If it has the same heady rush of effect.

_Please him, Omega_.

He barely registers his fingers closing around the base of Steve's shaft—his movement fast and quick—then the impulsive swipe of his tongue tasting him. There is a burst of salt and citrus in his mouth, a spike of Alpha scent rising to his nose, the glands embedded into Steve's thighs heavy with his musk. The Alpha tenses, his cock jumping in his grasp from the sudden stimulation. "God, Tony," moans Steve.

_More, _he thinks, a bit crazed, growing more wet. He moistens his thumb with his saliva and laves it around the tip, knowing it will feel good because sometimes he does that too. Another moan shutters out of Steve, his fingers diving into Tony’s hair. Tony swirls his tongue around him like a popsicle, and winces when Steve pulls slightly.

He peers up at him.

Steve's pupils are blown wide, watching Tony like he is prey, Steve's aroma of lulling arousal filtering into Tony's lungs. Something in his brain reacts, makes Tony's last hold on his sanity go cloudy. Then he swallows down around him, submitting to the Alpha's pleasure, his mouth stretching wide around the blunt tip as he guides him in.

Steve sucks a breath in, words lost in his exhale. 

He doesn’t know what to do after that. Steve must understand, considering he begins to show Tony how to touch him, how to grip and how to suck—_not too hard, Tony. Yeah, like that._ A twist of his wrist, a suckle on the tip. No teeth, though. Teeth is bad. Teeth will hurt. But when Tony swallows him down again—Steve hitting the back of his throat and making him gag, the width of him barely fitting into his mouth.

_You're doing so good, _the Alpha praised, which makes him shiver all over; pulling a lewd moan from him, the sound vibrating around Steve's cock. The Alpha whimpers, his knot thickening, the sweat gathering on his brow. Tony's slick gushes quicker from the sight, almost coating his thighs. He doesn’t know how long it lasts for—the sounds leaving Steve’s lips being the only thing that matters, the only concept of time known to him in this moment—then Steve is gently pushing him off, his cock still hard in Tony's grip.

He whines in protest but Steve only shushes him and pulls him up for a kiss, then rolls them over until Tony is covered by his mass. He feels incredibly small beneath Steve’s huge frame.

They're both panting with exertion. Steve's skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat and glistening in the soft intimate light of the room. He presses another kiss to Tony's lips, long and soft, nipping at his bottom lip before slanting their mouths together. There is no rush this time. Nothing but laziness and Tony’s fingers skimming along Steve’s biceps; nothing but the faint feeling of being poised upon the precipice of something, a sense of importance dawning over Tony. It leads him steadily through and away from the fog, the hold on his mind relenting and allowing him to push through his instincts. 

_You should be made love_ _to; _remembering the words are almost enough to pull him back under, but Steve breaks their kiss and looks deep into his eyes, commanding Tony’s will to focus. He can feel the Alpha hard and wanting against his thigh. A reflection of his own need to be filled.

“Do you want me?” Tony tries to make it sound teasing, coy, like how Omegas are sometimes portrayed in movies. But his voice comes out breathy and soft, vulnerable.

Steve cups his cheek, swipes his thumb across the bone of it, and whispers husky and low: “God, yes." 

Steve's affirmation makes the heat draw hotter beneath his skin. The anticipation coiling tighter and coalescing with his hunger. "Okay." He startles Steve by trying to turn over, wanting to present himself the traditional way, knowing this is how it happens. But Steve's big hands halt him, the Alpha chuckling softly.

"No, Tony," he gently intones. "Like this." He guides Tony back into position.

"But first," Steve whispers, his only warning before he sweeps a hand down his chest and past his hips, heading straight between his thighs. "you need preparing.” A thick digit probes around his folds before pushing into him, the way eased by the slick dripping out of him. It shocks Tony, same as before, has him clenching tight from the sudden intrusion. Steve groans, mumbles somethingbeneath his breath and begins to gently thrust his finger in and out. 

Oh. _Oh_. Now Tony’s panting, writhing. Biting his lip. 

Not long after that Steve adds another finger, a second pushing thickly into him and stretching him further. "That's it, sweetheart." Steve's breath fans hot along his neck, teasing Tony's flaming gland with his proximity. "There you go."

Tony feels incredibly full, his body trembling from the sensation—but he knows innately it's not enough. _It’s not enough_.

Steve hooks his fingers and rubs that same spot from before. Tony’s hand shoots out and closes tight around Steve's wrist, the pleasure too sudden and sharp. But he holds him there, encouraging the Alpha with a thrust of his hips, wanting to chase the spark of electricity that licks down his spine. Steve angles his fingers and thrusts in again, hitting home; the sensation curving Tony's back into a sensuous arch.

_Fuck. _Hewants it. So badly. 

His mouth parts; vision blurring and growing hot.

He is close.

So very, very _close. _

He feels like he is being pulled toward it. The euphoria within sight, his body readying for that sweet release. So, so _ready_ for it.

Steve’s fingers feeling so good and so wonderful and—what? _What?! _Heis empty, the sudden absence of Steve's fingers ripping a whine from his throat. He scrambles to bring Steve close again, feeling hollow and so, so _empty; _demanding back the release that has been cruelly ripped away from him_._

"Shh, it's okay." Steve wipes away the tear that slips down his cheek. "I got you, sweetheart. I know what you need."

Steve spreads him wide, hooks Tony’s legs over his thighs.

“This will hurt,” Steve warns, looking down at him with worry.

But Tony can't find it in himself to care because he is _ready, _wants with a burning passion for the Alpha to hurry up and fill him up before he starts—he inhales swiftly, the blunt tip of something much larger than Steve's fingers pushing into him tortuously slow. His breath catches in his throat and Tony almost panics, afraid for a split second that Steve will not fit, the alpha’s cock feeling impossibly thick. But he bottoms out—the entirety of him not fitting in the first thrust.

It allows time for Tony to breathe, to suck the air back into his lungs before Steve thrusts back in with a force that equally shoves it out of him.

He gasps, feels a twinge of pain, and wraps his arms tight around Steve’s broad shoulders, needing an anchor. Then another thrust, more aching and deeper than the last, the rigid length of Steve's cock stretching him to impossible standards.

When Steve thrusts in a third time something gives—the force behind it so hard and tenacious he feels something _tear_ inside him as Steve pushes to the hilt inside of him. He tenses so quick like a rubber band being held taut and stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, feeling the rush of slick that quickly follows; the onslaught of pain waylaying the sensation of Steve pulsing hotly inside of him.

He doesn't realize he is panting; soft, tiny breaths to keep him from whining low in his throat.

The heat emanating from Steve almost overwhelming him, his nails biting into Steve's skin. But Steve is there, fingers combing through his hair, softly petting him and peppering kisses along his cheeks and chin. "You okay?" The Alpha sounds shaky, the arms bracketing each side of Tony slightly trembling.

Tony opens his mouth, attempts to speak, fails, before drawing in another breath and trying again. "J-just give me a minute," he whispers it so low he's not even sure Steve heard him.

But Steve nods, softly responding with an ‘okay’ and—_bless him_—waits for Tony to adjust.

Tony's eyes flutter against his cheeks, blinking slowly past the intensity of realizing Steve is inside him—where no one else has ever been— and aside from the pain twinging within, how fucking good and _delicious_ it feels. How he feels on top of the world—no, the universe—when Steve's eyes hone in on him, watching as Tony licks his lips, as he parts his mouth and pants through his gathering fervor. Like they are the only two in existence.

And God, just remembering the _tremble_ in the alpha's voice—the sheer want heard in the rasp of it—it makes Tony clench even tighter around him, his arousal burning hotter. 

"Fuck," Steve moans low, deep and guttural. A sound that echoes deep inside Tony, pulling an answering whine from his throat.

The alpha _wants_ him.

_Steve_ wants _him_. Of course he already knew that, but the heady thought sends a wave of omega pheromones washing over him, lulling him deeper into its tide. He is ready, feels it innately, like sweet Jenny from the book with her famished alpha. A deep desire unraveling, letting loose, his own body gushing more slick around Steve's girth, wanting a move on.

_Steve_, he tries to say, but it's too breathless, and propels his hips forward, his cunt glove-tight around the alpha's cock; the swollen head of his own prick leaking with pre-cum.

Steve watches him, smoldering and heavy.

Then quickly in understanding, draws himself out, making sure their gazes are connected when he slowly pushes back in. Tony is so sensitive that he feels every burning inch, his body greedily taking him in; his skin tingling like before when Steve's mouth was exploring him. He feels like he is being turned inside out in the most pleasurable way. 

“Look at me,” Steve commands, and Tony, lost in a daze—wasn’t even aware his eyes had fallen shut—peers up at Steve.

_Fuck_.

Steve's expression is...it is...Tony feels like he is being devoured by the sheer intensity of it.

He grips Tony by his nape, his thumb pressing into the gland now swollen and ready by his throat. It shoots white-hot pleasure through him, intensifying the incursion of it all, a high whine tumbling out of Tony’s mouth. He feels how Jenny felt. God damn, he _feels_ it. The want to submit burning a hole inside him; a terrible need to show Steve how good he can be almost knocking everything out of range and focus.

Steve pulls their foreheads together, their faces now only scant inches away that all Tony can do is helplessly watch as Steve begins to take him apart, piece by shattering piece, each thrust slow and deep and impaling. He hears the headboard thud against the wall in slow, sharp intervals that pierce through him. _What if people hear them_, a distant part of him thinks—but it’s overtaken by a much larger part of him that gets off on that thought. _People will hear and they will know_. A moan forces out of him, much like the air scrambling to fill his lungs, and Steve, signifying that for encouragement, begins to fasten his thrusts; setting a pace that breaks the dam inside of him, a mantra of Steve's name spilling past his lips.

"Oh, _Tony,"_ Steve pants, harsh and breathy, as if the alpha is also shattering from the intensity of it as well. “Look at you. You’re doing so well, baby. So _good_.”

The words do something to him, make him shutter and shake because _fuck, he’s doing so good._ _He’s doing so well. _And just from hearing that appraisal—Tony’s legs fall open even wider, his body inviting Steve in deeper. His head pushes further back into the pillow, eyes once again falling close, baring his throat in omega submission without even realizing it. He hears a satisfied growl but it's ignored in favor of the feeling that crashes into him, a burgeoning pressure building in his stomach; his earlier denial of release fast approaching. Then Steve is using a hand to lift his hips higher, the blunt of his cock hitting a whole new spot inside of him.

"Fuuuuck," Tony keens, back bowing, his skin flushed and molten hot like a star on the verge of collapsing in on itself.

The Alpha groans, presses his lips beneath Tony’s ear and down toward his swollen gland. The hold on his nape releases, Steve's hand dropping down between his thighs and gathering the slick squelching around Steve's cock—then he is gripping Tony's dick, thumbing his tip. Steve's mouth closes wet around his sensitive gland at the same time, and sucks, a sensation that has Tony jerking violently—then he is suspended and held taught, his muscles squeezing so tight he’s afraid it will cramp up, an electric coiling of energy gathering at the bottom of his spine and deep down between his thighs.

He hears the same wild noise from earlier, a mixture of Steve's name and a whine.

And then—he _explodes_.

His vision whitens out.

It’s brighter this time, more intense.

There are shock waves of sheer ecstasy starting from the heartbeat between his thighs and spilling into each nerve-ending in his body, an all-encompassing pleasure hitting him everywhere. He tenses around Steve's cock, his own spurting cum and coating both of their bellies. He thinks he is going to sag from the relief of it like before, but Steve continues driving into him, merciless, shoving Tony further over the edge and higher into the clouds. The pleasure of it overwhelming and bordering on pain—but it's too _good._

_W__ay_ too fucking good to stop.

His body must think otherwise, his thighs shaking and trembling, trying to close and pull away from the drowning sensation but Steve keeps him spread open and in place, vulnerable and helpless to his onslaught.

There are tears slipping down his cheeks and he cries out, drags his nails down Steve’s back, torn between wanting more and telling the Alpha _enough. _Before he can decide another orgasm rips through him with a ferocity that steals his breath, makes his toes curl so tight, his body clenching and jerking; the sound of Steve's drawn out _fuck _like a sweet praise that curls around his ears, making him cling for dear life.

Hot liquid spills into him, the scent of Steve enveloping and soaking into his skin, their scents entwining around and within one another. It composes something delicious, something that has Tony feeling possessive and Hazed out, his mind abruptly yanked from him as he settles into a float cloudier than before. His body registers the knot thickening and all he can think is _yes, yes, _fuck_ yes. Knot me, please! Please, please, please. _Mindlessly, he tries digging his heels in, to keep the Alpha in place so his knot can lock them together—and for a brief sweet second he thinks it will.

But his legs are weak and they give out as soon as the Alpha pulls out, his seed spilling onto Tony's stomach and chest, leaving him wet, loose and empty.

His want for total completion denied.

He sobs at the loss, feels lips brushing his gland in apology, a final lick of pleasure intensely shooting through him at the small brush of contact. Overstimulated, it stretches him too thin, spasms wracking him.

Then the world falls away.

Everything fading to black.

* * *

He comes back to himself, boneless and tender, nothing but a puddle of sore, satisfied limbs melting into the sheets. He feels the wiping sensation of a cloth cleaning the mess between his thighs and almost hisses from it. The Haze isn’t as strong this time, some visceral part of him wanting to be present, a dopey smile pulling at his lips. He feels light like a balloon brimming with helium, floating high; a fissure of warmth curling into his chest, complete and utter contentment a pleasant thrum through his veins. 

He can't help himself, he laughs.

The cloth is pulled away and Steve is sitting up, throwing it to the side. Steve returns to laying beside him and watches Tony stretch his limbs like a cat; Tony subconsciously arching his body this way and that, preening beneath Steve’s appreciative stare, craving his attention like a newborn babe.

The warmth within his ribs increases when he dreamily looks over at Steve.

"Hungry?" Steve asks, facial features lax, the lines around his mouth appearing smoother now, less edged in sullenness.

At the mention of food his stomach makes its interest known in a loud grumble. "God, yes," Tony groans, rolling into his warmth, Steve's arms easily welcoming him.

“What would you like?"

Tony nuzzles Steve's jaw, inhaling his Alpha scent. “What’s on the menu?”

Citrus and lemon and bergamot, alluring and delicious, cloying on his tongue and teasingly caressing his Omega psyche. But he searches for something, knows innately it will be found. And there it is. Tiny, but present, sweet like peaches and cinnamon, hanging along the edges of Steve’s musk, Tony’s omega scent possessively weaving in and out.

He must scent like Steve, too.

"Anything you want," Steve reaches over him to the nightstand, slightly jostling Tony. He pulls away from the crook of Steve's neck and looks up out of curiosity, spots a phone clutched within Steve’s big hand. "I have Uber eats," Steve adds proudly and gestures to his phone with a slight shake, smile so soft and warm Tony could fall into it.

The Alpha's eyes are bright and sparkling, an ever-shifting blue coalescing. Like water and ice but the kind that promises tenderness, that melts into people and reforms around their shape. He laughs again, feels that same unnamed emotion from before bloom even brighter like a beacon of some sorts, soft-winged and tender and spilling into him. 

"Cheeseburgers,” Tony finally says, too satisfied to properly deal with his newfound feelings. “But they have to be from Burger King. Howard absolutely _hates _when I eat that shit. Think of it as a final 'fuck you' to big ol' da?"

Steve chuckles and pulls Tony closer, “would you have it any other way?"

“No,” Tony can't help but whisper, then proceeds to press the softest of kisses against Steve’s lips. He pulls back and stares deep into the Alpha's blue eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.” 

He pretends it is the hormones and post-coital bliss that pushes him deeper into the Alpha's embrace, wanting to disappear into Steve’s warmth and have the man reform around his shape, like the feeling he evokes within Tony from his gaze. To say _that is that_ and call it a day because it has been a longand tiringone, his exhaustion beginning to set in.

But hidden away from the rest of the world, it is too easy to believe otherwise.

Damn. Tony never stood a chance, did he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Steve is just THAT good and I refuse to believe anything else! ;) 
> 
> Thank you everyone for being amazing! I appreciate every single one of you! 
> 
> LOTS OF LOVE FOR YOU GUYS <3<3<3
> 
> If you are enjoying this story, PLEASE don’t forget to leave a kudos or comment! Feedback is very important to me UwU I like knowing what your thoughts are regarding my fic! :)


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